


The Leap to Sunnydale

by Meltha



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Quantum Leap
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Samuel Beckett finds himself in Sunnydale, trying to put right what once went wrong, as usual. However, nothing about this leap is ordinary. Oh boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Buffy characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. I also do not own and take no profit from anything having to do with Quantum Leap. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of both of you. Thank you.

"Oh! My hero!" the little red-haired, bespectacled Girl Scout crowed happily as she threw her boxes of cookies up in the air and hugged what she thought was Mr. Fogerty, the former meanest man in town, who had just rescued her puppy, Schmoopie, from the speeding bus.

 

It was at that moment that a slightly flustered Sam Beckett, who was housed inside Mr. Fogerty, began to glow brightly. Moments later, he found himself leaping through time and space, until, quite abruptly, he was in a new and utterly unknown landscape.

Darkness surrounded him. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face. As always after a leap, he was more than a little Swiss cheesed, but this disorientation was starting to make him downright panicky. Wherever he was, though, it was crowded. Objects of unknown size and shape were pressed in on him from every side, and the air was close, confined, and smelled strongly of...

"Fabric softner?" he tried to mumble quietly, but the sound of his voice came out strangely muffled and echoey. "Where am I?"

It was then that he heard approaching noises. He couldn't make out what they were at first, but that changed abruptly when a huge metal door swung open, lights suddenly illuminating the chamber. For one brief moment, he thought he'd managed to leap home, that the door to the imaging chamber had opened and he was free.

But the imaging chamber shouldn't have been filled with what seemed to be miles of flowered cotton...

"Dawn! Are you bringing the laundry upstairs?"

"Yes! Geez, Buffy, I've only got two hands," came another voice, much closer, and ringing through the metal room Sam occupied.

Two enormous hands ending in violently pink nailpolish suddenly grasped the contents of the chamber, including Sam, and proceeded to pull them out of... a clothes dryer? What the hey?

As he was jostled and bounced up the stairs, the scientist was at a complete loss for words. His view was mostly obscured by what he now recognized as a pillowcase, but soon the journey ended and he, along with the laundry, was dumped unceremoniously on what seemed to be the world's largest living room couch.

"Huh," said the voice that belonged to the pink nails, "looks like someone came along for a free ride."

With a yank, he found himself being lifted by his hindquarters out of the floral sheets and held in front of the face of a teenager with long brown hair, her mouth quirking in what appeared to be a grin. Or perhaps it was a frown. He was, after all, hanging upside down.

"You're way April fresh, but no harm done, I guess. Better get you back upstairs before Buffy kills me," she said to him and then proceeded up yet another flight of stairs, still carrying the Nobel Prize winner head downwards.

Moments later, Sam found himself flying helplessly through the air to land with a soft bounce on a huge, unmade bed as the girl who was apparently called Dawn fled from the room as if she'd just robbed Fort Knox.

It was then that he noticed the large, full-length mirror on the closet door.

"Why don't I see myself?" he wondered in confusion. This was one weird leap. The lack of a reflection bothered him. There had been that one creepy guy who lived in the castle and thought he was a vampire... but, no, he told himself firmly. Those did not exist.

It was at this point that he waved his hand frantically in front of his face, and the movement was repeated in the mirror. But, it wasn't possible. Testing his theory further, Sam gingerly got to all four of us his feet and scuttled forward a few inches.

"I'm a... I'm a stuffed pig?" he said in complete disbelief. "Oh, boy..."


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly, the familiar rushing sound of Al's arrival filled the room. Sam didn't know whether to be thrilled or mortified. He was a stuffed pig, for crying out loud! Al would never let him hear the end of this.

As he sat on the bed and waited for the inevitable to occur, Al, who today was wearing a garish ensemble of tomato red pants and a bright green and sky blue striped shirt, topped off with a hat that looked like the thing the Skipper used to beat up Gilligan, looked around the room quizzically.

"Gushy? You sure you got this right?" he called to what looked like no one. He gave the comlink a mighty swat and it squealed in protest. "Sam! Where are ya, buddy? There's nobody in here."

Taking a deep, shaking breath, Sam braced himself for the inevitable as he said softly, "Oh, yes there is."

Al spun around so quickly that he nearly fell to the floor.

"Where?"

"Um, here," Sam said resignedly as he waved his front legs weakly.

Al blinked, stepped forward, stared at the little piggy, then blinked again.

"Sam?"

"Yup."

"What the hell are you doing there? Ziggy said you're supposed to be some guy named Mr. Gordo," Al said as his eyes became huge.

Sam sat down in despair, barely even denting the coverlet, and immediately felt something crinkling under his posterior. Looking over his rather plump shoulder, he was just able to see a cloth tag that protruded from his backside. With a loud groan, he turned his back to Al and said, "I am Mr. Gordo."

Al leaned closer and stared at the tush tag, reading aloud.

"'Mr. Gordo the Piggy, made by Cuddletta Toy Company of Pasadena, California.' Well, you're American made, at least. Hey, says here you're machine washable and 100% polyester filled, Sammy," Al laughed.

"Yeah, I'm well aware of that washable fact," Sam muttered. "This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to only leap into humans! The chimp I could understand, but this? How did I end up in a stuffed toy?"

"Good question. Ziggy here says... huh. Well, that's odd. She's not sure, Sam. She's hypothesizing that maybe Buffy, that's the girl that owns you, has been cuddling you for so long that you've picked up some of her DNA. Doesn't really make any sense, though. Still, the only other option is that the toy is sentient, which of course, makes even less sense," Al said in exasperation.

"Okay, okay, whatever, I'm here now, so how do I get to move on to someone a little less fuzzy," Sam said, shaking his head and resting his forehead on his front hooves.

"Do that again," Al said with a chuckle.

"What?"

"It's just... Sam, you're so cute," Al said with far too wide a grin.

Sam rolled his shoe-button eyes and circled his hoof in a motion that clearly meant to hurry things along.

"Right, right. Okay, uh, Ziggy says that there's a 89% chance that you're here to stop Buffy from becoming a vamp." Al stopped in confusion. "Personally, I've always liked women who were kinda vampy. What's so wrong with her being a vamp?"

Al slugged the comlink again, and with an electronic curse it spat out the rest of the word.

"Oh! A vampIRE. Buffy's going to..." Al stopped in mid-sentence. "Buffy's going to become a vampire? See, Sam, I told you there was something to that thing!"

Sam sighed again. "Al, for the final time, all of that leap had a perfectly logical explanation. There are no such things as vampires. They do not exist. They are figments of folkloric imagination brought on by fear of early entombment and religious connotations of burial in unconsecrated ground. I don't want to hear another word about..."

"Vampires?" Al said with his mouth hanging open and staring at a spot several feet over Sam's head.

"Yes, vampires!" Sam shouted, but Al didn't even blink. Sam looked in the mirror, wondering if perhaps some gorgeous woman had entered the room, although it would have had to be through the opened window, in order to make Al go speechless, but there was no one there. "What are you staring at? Nobody is..." Sam began, but then he felt the hand on his head.

It was unusally cool, which would have been enough to make anyone jump, but the fact that the man, who was wearing a leather coat and had slicked-back blond hair that could only have come from a bottle, was sitting right next to him on the bed but casting no reflection at all was what prompted a scream and made him topple off the bed.

"Oops, quite a tumble there," the man said in an English accent as he saw the pig fall. "Been hittin' the JD, Gordo? Best put you back where you belong, puffball."

With a surprisingly gentle grip, he picked up Sam and settled him against the large pillow on the bed, giving him a fond pat. Sam noticed when his wrist brushed against him that there was no pulse.

"Oh boy," Sam mumbled again as he watched the long leather coat and its owner go through the door and disappear down the hallway. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy..."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam looked at Al. Al looked at Sam. Both of them were completely dumbstruck.

"Ah, Sam," Al finally managed to croak out, "this is a little out of our regular experience."

"No kidding!" Sam snapped. "I mean, yeah, you were the devil once, but still."

"I was wha?" Al asked, his eyebrows raising until they were completely under his hat brim.

"Nevermind," Sam replied quickly. Better to leave that one well enough alone. "Wait, is that the vampire that's going to get Buffy?"

Al punched buttons on the comlink, then breathed a sigh of relief. "No. It says here it doesn't happen until tomorrow night, and it's a female who, well, bites her."

"Anything useful I should know? Should I be on the lookout for witches or werewolves or Bigfoot, too?" Sam half-yelled in exasperation, his snout wrinkling in disdain.

"Um, actually, Ziggy says the other room-mate in the house is a witch, and, get this Sam, she used to date a werewolf, but he's somewhere in Sri Lanka now," Al said, his lip curling up as things just got weirder and weirder.

"She used... to date... a..." Sam said slowly.

"Werewolf, yeah but, hey," Al said with a none-too-pure grin, "Ziggy says she's a lesbian now."

Sam ran his hoof over his face in aggravation. The last thing he needed on this leap was Al's monster-sized libido. He could only hope this Buffy, whoever she was, was about as attractive as a Rottweiler.

"Okay, fine, so we got one girl named Dawn," Sam checked off.

"That's Buffy's sister," Al provided helpfully. "Buffy's raising her since, aw, that's a shame, the mother died a little less than a year ago."

Sam winced. "What about her father?"

Al typed something into the comlink and snorted in disgust. "Stupid meshuganah doesn't have anything to do with them. He's off with some bimbo in Rome right now. "

Sam screwed up his piggy nose in revulsion.

"And the..." he had a hard time saying it, "the witch?"

"Willow Rosenberg, same age as Buffy, which is... two. Two?" Al bashed the comlink against his palm. "Twenty. Well, that makes more sense."

"And we got one English vampire?" Sam added faintly.

"Ziggy doesn't know anything about him at all," Al sighed. "Sam, you're a stuffed pig. What are you supposed to be able to do here?"

Sam's brow furrowed deeply as this question led to another one. "Just what the heck is the stuffed pig doing in my body back at the lab?"

"Huh. Y'know, I don't know. Lemme check on that for ya," Al said as the chamber door abruptly swung open and he left with another swoosh of the air lock closing.

No sooner had Al left than into the room came a young woman. She was quite pretty, although she was rather thin and wore an expression of deep sadness. Her eyes seemed dim somehow, as though she'd seen too much. Currently, she was wearing a fast food uniform that made Al look fashionable by comparison, which was really saying something. She took the bizarre chicken/cow hat off her bobbed blonde hair and hung it off the lamp on her desk, sighing deeply as she rooted through her dresser drawers and grabbed what looked like gray sweats. Sam was prepared to shut his eyes, but she left the room once again, and a few seconds later he heard the shower come on.

"Not a Rottweiler, nope," Sam said. "Well, at least Al isn't here, or I'm pretty sure she'd have some invisible holographic company in the shower."

Meanwhile, in a completely white room several years in the future, Al was staring at Sam's form, currently inhabited by one Mr. Gordo. The good doctor was down on his hands and knees, his face smiling beatifically at Al, not moving at all. Verbena assured him that all his vital signs were fine, but it was a little unnerving.

"This is just weird," Al finally said to her.

"I don't know," Verbena answered, not even bothering to hide a grin. "I think he looks sort of cuddly."

"Whatever," Al said as he walked away. "He gives me the heebee-jeebees."

Verbena waited until Al was out of the room before going up to Sam and patting him on the head. "Don't listen to a word he says, Mr. Gordo. You're adorable. I'm sure Dr. Beckett will take very good care of your girl."

As her high heels clicked away down the hall, the smile on Sam's face became just a little wider.


	4. Chapter 4

The Summers' house, Sam was beginning to realize, was a very bizarre place in more ways than one. His current form meant that he really shouldn't be moving around on his own, so for now, until he came up with a better plan, he had to be content with staying in Buffy's room. Still, the shower was running and the door to the bedroom was shut, so he had the opportunity to look around for a few minutes at least.

 

He carefully hopped down onto the nightstand and then to the floor, figuring he'd be able to climb up the dust ruffle pretty fast if he heard someone coming. He learned quickly that while he still had all the range of motion of a normal human being, his small size was a big problem. He jogged across the carpet and nudged back the door of the closet, figuring that might be a good place to start to get some idea of Buffy's life. The clothes that were hanging far above his head offered very few possibilities for discovery, though, since he couldn't tell much except that her hemline tended to come in three lengths: short, extremely short, and one pair of overalls. However, sitting in the bottom was a large black bag, big enough to carry at least thirty of him in his present condition. He grabbed the zipper and pulled it back until he could wiggle his pink tushie inside to have a look around.

At first, he thought he'd simply stumbled on Buffy's gym bag. There was plenty of bottled water, in any case. On closer inspection, though, each plastic bottle was labeled "holy water." Judging by how the rest of the leap was going, Sam guessed this wasn't the name of the newest trendy gourmet beverage from L.A. Then there were the other contents. Wooden sticks? Hatchets? And... OW!

Sam pulled back quickly from the edge of a very sharp crossbow bolt that had cut his hand. It wasn't a deep cut, but there was some blood. A thought occurred to him, and he struggled back out of the bag and stepped in front of the closet mirror again. No doubt about it. Mr. Gordo's fore-hoof was leaking polyester. Well, the poor little guy had just been through the laundry. Any injuries were likely to be chalked up to that.

Sam heard the water stop running, and he ran back to the bed, pulling himself up the spread and resuming his previous position in no time flat. A few minutes later, Buffy, now dripping slightly, re-entered the room and sat down with a small sigh. He didn't know what it was, but something about her made him instantly feel sorry for her. A huge protective instinct washed over him, and the crazy idea that this was a residual bit of Mr. Gordo popped into his head. As she ran a comb through her hair, a knock came at the bedroom door.

"Yeah?"

"S'mee, pet," said the English voice from before. "Little Bit's off to sleep and Willow was breathing easy too when I went past her room. Let me in?"

Buffy's face looked even more weary than before for a moment, but she slumped her shoulders and opened the door, revealing the vampire from earlier, now leaning on one arm against the frame.

"Just to talk," she said firmly as she turned around.

"Yeah, Buffy," he said with a smile. "Because you've really been a big one for talking the last several times we've been alone. I believe last time the only coherent words you said were 'Switch places with me; this wall is bruising my back'."

She looked away uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, it was."

He stepped close to her, his hands resting softly, actually gently, Sam was surprised to see, on her shoulders.

"Want me to rub it for you, luv?" he asked quietly, and Sam suddenly wished he was elsewhere.

Buffy nodded automatically, then quickly shook her head. "I... I said for you not to call me that. Look, this is... my kid sister is two doors down. Spike, I can't do this here."

"Wasn't suggesting we get down and dirty in the middle of the hallway," he said as he let go of her and walked a few paces away. "Know you're ashamed to be seen with me as it is, but who's going to tell on us in here? Mr. Gordo?" he said, gesturing towards Sam, who was beginning to contemplate hiding under the bed at the nearest opportunity.

Buffy actually smiled for a moment, and Sam noticed that this Spike person's eyes became very full when that happened, as though it was a rare gift she was giving him. "I guess not, but, seriously, not here."

"Just a bit of snogging then?" Spike pouted.

"I don't think so," Buffy said as she turned away. No sooner had the blond man nearly gotten to the window then Buffy appeared to abruptly change her mind as she grabbed the back of his coat and, with a strength that shocked Sam completely, melded her mouth onto his, then threw him onto the bed forcefully.

And directly onto Dr. Samuel Beckett.

"Ooof!" he grunted as he was being squashed by the pair of them, but thankfully they didn't hear.

"Bu... Buff..." Spike was trying to say, but he didn't appear to have free movement of his lips at the moment. At length, he gasped and pulled his mouth away, panting. "Hold that thought, Slayer. This time, something's sticking me in the back."

A cool hand fished Sam out from under the suffocating folds of black leather, and his beady black eyes met a pair of blue ones.

"Sorry, little fella," Spike said with a wink, and Sam had to stop himself from immediately replying with a "that's okay."

Buffy, on the other hand, was frowning now and staring at the stuffed toy. Not saying anything at all, she grabbed him out of Spike's hand and examined his hoof, finding the small rip immediately. She sat up, moving away from Spike, and her expression changed to one of guilt, then, suddenly, anger.

"Look what you did!" she yelled at the now shell-shocked vampire. "You ripped him, you moron!"

"What?" he said, confused.

"No matter what you do, you just destroy everything, don't you?" she accused him.

"Hey, now," he said. "That's not my fault. And you'd better keep it down unless you want the whole house up and about."

"You're... you're just... just get the hell out of here!" she hissed at him.

Spike got to his feet, shaking his head at how quickly the events had changed, and shot Buffy an angry look. "You can't blame everything that happens on me, Buffy. I'm not your whipping boy, and I won't be treated like one. Maybe I'll just take your advice and get the hell out of here," he said perching on the windowsill. "For good."

He dropped out of sight a moment later, leaving a very emotionally distraught Buffy in the middle of the room, hugging the stuffed pig to her chest. Sam heard a deafening thud-thud-thud coming from her heart as she dropped back down on the bed and cried herself to sleep. Mr. Gordo doesn't exactly have an easy life, does he, Sam thought as he finally drifted off to sleep himself.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sam!" yelled a voice right next to his ear, and Dr. Beckett jerked awake. Luckily, in spite of a small groan and a mumbled "Don't wanna get up," from Buffy, the girl slept on.

 

Al was standing next to the window, comlink in hand, grinning in amusement as he saw Mr. Gordo fumble out of the blankets and yawn widely, covering his felt mouth with a hoof as he did so. He rubbed his shoe button eyes and glared at Al vengefully.

"If you can manage to look like you're not watching the newest heart-warming Disney movie for three seconds," he whispered angrily at his good friend, "can you at least give me a little more information?"

"Aw, now Sam, why're you waking up on the wrong side of the bed? After all, you did spend the night in the arms of a goregous woman. I mean, this Buffy isn't so hard on the eyes," he declared, leaning in close to the sleeping Slayer's face as she let out a delicate snore. "I wouldn't mind being her bedtime pal, no siree."

"Al, try to keep your Godzilla-sized libido in check long enough to tell me what's going on, okay," Sam muttered as he rubbed his hand through his hair, making the patch of pink fuzz on top of Mr. Gordo's head stand straight up.

"Spoilsport," Al said regretfully. "Anyway, here's what we've been able to piece together, and it's all pretty weird stuff, Sam."

"Considering I'm a stuffed pig, I'm not really surprised by that," the doctor replied.

"Yeah, good point. Okay, so it seems Buffy's been dead... wait, no," Al said as he thumped the comlink throughly. "No, she's been dead twice."

"What?"

"Yeah. Apparently, the first time she got brought back with CPR only a few seconds later," Al answered.

"That's not too out there," Sam said, glad to have something he could finally understand from his medical training. "What about the second time?"

Al stared at the comlink, all but punched it out, shook it, and finally yelled, "Gushy! This can't be right!" He paused, apparently listening to someone. "It is?"

"What now?"

"The second time she died, she stayed dead for over four months before her friend Willow resurrected her using magic," Al said in a rush, getting it over with quickly.

Sam stared at Al. "That's not funny."

"I'm not being funny! That's what Ziggy says happened! And ever since she's been back, she's been really depressed, poor kid. She's working over at some greasy dive called the Doublemeat Palace, flipping burgers in order to pay the bills for her and her kid sister," Al said seriously.

Sam shook his head, trying to clear it. She'd been dead for months and came back to work in fast food?

"You know, I'm still not saying that I think Ziggy's circuits haven't shorted out completely, but there could be a little truth in this. There are stories about people who have had near-death experiences who are angry or depressed that they were brought back because the afterlife was so peaceful. When did this happen?"

"In September," Al said. "And it's January now."

"That's not too much time, really, all things considered," Sam said, glancing at the still-sleeping girl.

"Yeah, except Ziggy says that some time tonight Buffy's gonna disappear," Al explained quickly.

"And get bit by a vampire, right?" Sam finished, still not able to believe it in spite of what he'd seen.

"That's what Ziggy says, yeah. I wouldn't mind biting her myself, if you get my drift, Sammy," Al declared with a purient chuckle as he leered at Buffy again. "Hey now, who's this?"

Sam managed to turn around just before another blonde girl entered the room. This one looked more healthy than Buffy did, but there was still sadness in her eyes as she surveyed the room.

"Ziggy says this is Tara, the ex-girlfriend of... oh boy, the other housemate, Willow! Now doesn't that paint some pretty pictures," Al said, wandering over to Tara. "Hey, now Sam, that's a real pretty girl. Too bad she's batting on the opposite team."

"Al, you're a hologram. No one bats on your team," Sam said, then slapped his hand over his mouth.

"Someone here?" Tara asked, spinning in the direction of the voice.

"That was dumb, Sam! Look what you've gone and done!"

Sam glared as loudly as he could at Al, but he didn't dare move.

"Hello?" Tara asked. Luckily, the sound of the nextdoor neighbor's kids playing in the front yard drifted through the window just at that moment, saving the day. "I'm too nervous for my own good," she muttered to herself as she looked around the room. "Ah, here it is," she murmured as she picked up a necklace from the desk. Suddenly, she caught sight of Mr. Gordo. "Hey little guy, what happened to your foot?"

Before Sam knew what was happening, he was swept off the pillow and up into the gentle hands of the young woman. Tara carefully examined the rip in the seam, then popped him under her arm and strode down the hallway.

"I'll just sew you up while I'm waiting to take Dawn out for breakfast," Tara explained to the stuffed animal/nuclear physicist.

"Uh, Sam?" Al called as he followed along behind. "Can she do that?"

"I don't know," he whispered as quietly as he could.

Happily, Sam didn't feel the needle and thread at all as Tara quickly fixed the small gash in Mr. Gordo's hoof. Oddly enough, as she sewed, she kept up a running dialogue with the piggy.

"I'm kinda glad Willow left early for the Magic Box this morning," she confided in the him. "I mean, I miss her a lot, but it's too, you know, complicated right now. Anyway, it'll be nice to have breakfast with Dawn. She needs someone to look after her. Buffy is... well, you know, not doing too good right now. She's sort of in self-destruct mode. I'm not really sure what anyone can do about that until she decides there's something worth being alive for. Or someone. There. All done, Mr. Gordo," she said as she snipped the pink thread and put the needle and scissors back in the mending basket under the living room couch.

She surveyed her handiwork with a smile, then tilted her head to one side, regarding him. Sam had the eeriest feeling that she was looking right through him.

"Huh. That's crazy, even for Sunnydale," she said in an undertone. "Who ever heard of a stuffed animal with an aura?" She sniffed the pink plush deeply. "Must be the fabric softener. Dawn! Are you ready yet?"

"Yeah!" the girl called down the steps, quickly followed by the rapid pounding of sneakers on the stairs. "Buffy's still sleeping, as usual."

Tara nodded thoughtfully. "She sleeps in a lot lately, doesn't she?"

"All the time, except when she has the early shift at Doublegrease Blah-gers," Dawn said, making a face.

"Hmm," Tara said, her face thoughtful. "Well, let's just leave Mr. Gordo here, then. Come on."

The two left through the front door, and Sam finally moved when he heard the keys turn in the lock and footsteps echoing on the front porch.

"Al?" he called in a half-whisper. "Al, you here?"

"Yup," said the other man from behind him. "I heard everything. Guess we're lucky Tara there talks to stuffed animals."

Sam looked up towards the ceiling, thinking of the young girl who lay asleep and obviously confused and depressed upstairs.

"So how exactly is Mr. Gordo supposed to make Buffy remember life is worth living?" he said in irritation.

"I don't know, Sammy," Al said, screwing up his mouth. Then he grinned a little. "But you really are cute."

The pig chucked a small pillow on the couch at him, and it sailed through the hologram without a pause.


	6. Chapter 6

It was several more hours before Buffy plodded down the stairs and into the living room. During that time, Sam and Al had made a fairly complete search of the house, turning up loads of weaponry, though none of it firearms. In fact, Sam thought, the Summers sisters could come pretty close to setting up a historical recreation of a Medieval arsenal if they wanted to. Al, for his part, had stuck his incorporeal head through the refrigerator door.

 

"I think I see why they're both so thin, Sammy," he called. "Nothing in here but some expired milk and part of a really moldy cauliflower. At least, I think it's a cauliflower. Might be a geriatric turnip."

Sam shuddered in disgust. "Yeah, well, I think the dietary habits of these girls is pretty low down on the list of priorities right now. Has Gushy got a bead on why Buffy's got all this stuff?"

"He's working on it," Al assured Sam as Buffy's head poked around the corner. "Uh oh. Hold still. Buffy at three o'clock."

Sam went rigid, very happy that he'd returned to his perch on the couch moments before. Buffy, for her part, yawned widely before her slippered feet continued into the kitchen. She reappeared in the living room a few moments later, carrying a granola bar and collapsing onto the sofa beside her pig. She stared at him dimly for a few seconds, then reached out to touch his hoof.

"Somebody played doctor with you," she said with a ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, I'd like to play doctor with Buffy, myself," Al purred at the oblivious girl.

Buffy absently ran her finger over the newly sewn seam as she chewed her granola bar. Sam wished she would open up to him like Tara had done, but he doubted that he'd have that kind of luck twice in a day. Instead, the girl merely continued chewing until the foil wrapper was empty.

"I hate granola. It's so bland. But then, so's life," she sighed as she grabbed the pig and carried him back upstairs. Buffy took the same uniform from the night before off her dresser and disappeared into the bathroom again.

"Yeesh. Could she get more down? She could make a daisy droop," Al remarked to Sam as soon as she'd left the room.

"Ziggy find out anything new during her breakfast of non-champions?"

"Um, only that, oh, this ain't good," Al said as he read the comlink. "It says here that someone answering Buffy's description is seen a couple months from now in a fight with your old pal Spike the vampire. Witnesses claim Spike, yagh, put a wooden stake through her heart and she turned to dust right before he, double yagh, used the same stake on himself. But... oh, geez, Sam, Sunnydale's population has decreased by half by then."

Sam shook his head. "Look, I need to find out exactly how this attack is going to take place."

"Yeah, well, details are kinda scattered because of the high death toll around these parts after Buffy gets all fangy," Al said. "All we can tell is that it happens around seven o'clock tonight after... aw, geez, after Buffy gets fired. She's really got it coming on all fronts."

"Do we know where?" Sam asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, um, says here that the body was found on the front porch, but that there weren't any signs of a struggle."

Sam nodded his porcine head thoughtfully.

Just at that moment, Buffy plowed back into the room, slung her purse over her shoulder, and jogged down the stairs.

"That's odd," Al said as he thunked the comlink. "Ziggy says that Buffy's not due at work until 5:00. It's only 2:15 right now, and the joint is only two miles away."

"Can you follow her? Let me know what happens?" Sam asked.

"Sure thing. Gushy, center me on Buffy!" Al called loudly, and a moment later he had disappeared, leaving behind one little piggy who had to stay home.


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy's speed through the suburban streets of Sunnydale kept Al constantly on the move. In fact, she moved so fast that Ziggy kept having to replot her coordinates, causing Al to get a very jolting, uneven, and, even for an admiral, motion sickness inducing ride.

"Geez, there, Buff!" he yelled. "Where's the fire? Slow down! Boy, nothing tuckers this girl out."

As Al was taking a moment to ponder all the good things that could be possible due to that, he realized that the scenery around them had changed dramatically. They were no longer passing trim little lawns and pleasant Cape Cod style homes. Instead, they were progressing rapidly through the very last place Al wanted to be on this particular leap.

"A cemetery?" he asked pointlessly as he stared at the blonde head that was speeding between tombstones. "Um, honey, people in a cemetery generally don't care if you're late or not, so just hold your horses a little, okay?"

Almost as if in response, Buffy sped up. At last, after running at least a good five miles without ever breaking her stride or, Al noted, breaking a sweat either, she had stopped in front of a mausoleum with a thick metal door. She stood outside of it for a moment, her hand resting on the door handle, and Al could tell she was fighting some sort of inner battle. Eventually, she pulled the heavy metal door open with an abrupt yank, the hinges squeaking loudly.

"Spike!" she called as she disappeared into the darkness.

"I really don't want to go into the dark, creepy crypt with the vampire inside," Al declared shakily, staring up at the blue sky. "You don't want me to go into the dark, creepy crypt with the vampire inside, do You? I wasn't talking to you, Gushy! I don't care that he can't hurt me! It's the set up for every horror movie ever made, and I am not going to fall for..."

But Al's tirade was cut short by a female cry of distress from within the crypt.

"I'm coming, Buffy!" he yelled as he plowed into the tomb, his fear, as usual, overcome by his big smooshy heart.

It took him a moment to realize that the crypt was rather well lit and homey... for a crypt. Buffy was sprawled on the floor, and Al kneeled down next to her immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern, taking in the scene.

"Stupid shoe! Stupid crack! Stupid man who invented high heels because he must have been a man!" she complained loudly as she wrestled with a two inch stiletto heel that had become embedded in a seam between two of the concrete slabs of the floor.

"Oh, you caught your heel, huh?" Al commented as he watched her pry the shoe out. "I guess that could be a bummer. Made you fall on your butt there, kiddo."

When the shoe popped free, Buffy sighed as she surveyed the damage. The heel was absolutely ruined. There was no way she could walk on it. She tossed it away in disgust and hoisted herself to her feet, rubbing her back for a moment before taking a few steps.

"At least the only thing hurt is your pride," Al said in relief. "And there was no one here to see it but me, and you don't even know I'm here, so no harm done. I won't tell. Really, though, you shouldn't go jogging in those things."

"Spike!" she called again as she looked around the empty room.

When there was no answer, she walked over to a set of stairs Al hadn't noticed before and went down them. Al pushed a couple buttons on the comlink and slowly descended through the floor and into the basement.

"Hey, nice chair!" he said as he admired the red pleather monstrosity that was Spike's favorite seat.

Buffy, meanwhile, was continuing to search the lower level only to find that there was no one there. She stood motionless in the middle of the room, her eyes flitting in every direction.

"It's the middle of the afternoon," she said slowly. "He can't be anywhere else."

"Who? Oh, the vampire. So they really can't go out in the daytime, huh? That's good to know," he said as watched her carefully.

Suddenly, Buffy practically flew over to the large, completely stripped bed that occupied most of one wall. She inspected it carefully, running her hand over the matress top and then bending to smell it deeply.

"He didn't sleep here today," she murmured softly. "His scent's cold."

"His scent?" Al asked, his eyebrow raising. "He's got a scent? Well, I suppose I'd have a scent too if I lived in a crypt."

With shaking hands, she opened the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed, and found nothing inside.

"His keys are gone," she said, and her voice sounded strangely tiny.

The next few minutes were spent throwing open an array of drawers, and the same result came from each: they were empty.

"Aw, geez, looks like the guy bailed on ya," Al said, sorry to see her so upset.

Buffy, however, took another long breath, and he could almost see her shoulders sink under yet another weight. What scared him though was that it seemed like this time she'd reached the breaking point.

"Now, Buffy," he said cautiously, "don't go jumping to conclusions. There could be some other completely logical explanation for all this. Like... like he suddenly decided to do all of his laundry at one time?"

With downcast eyes, Buffy trudged back up the steps and into the first room again, Al right behind her. As she pulled open the door to the crypt once more, she turned around and took a last look around the room.

"I always make them leave," she whispered sadly. "I'll always be alone."

The door clanged shut behind her, leaving a very unhappy hologram standing in the middle of the dark crypt.

"Poor kid," he said softly. "I don't know what the story is on this guy Spike, but whatever it is, he sure shouldn't have left her. If I ever saw that guy again, I'd give him a lot more than a good piece of my mind."

Suddenly, a loud thudding followed by a sound of splintering wood and a great deal of groaning echoed from the lower level, and Al was frightened half out of his wits.

"What... what... what..?" he repeated over and over as he whirled around and around, trying to find the source of the tortured moaning.

A white-blond head appeared at the opening to the basement. It lurched unsteadily into view until Al was able to recognize the face of the vampire he'd seen the night before.

"Hey, Spike! You didn't run out on her! Good for you, but why didn't you answer her when she... ooh, you're not looking so good there, pal," he said as soon as Spike faced him fully.

The vampire looked like hell. Someone had obviously worked him over but good. Blood was pouring in a stream from one temple, his shirt was shredded, his eye was nearly swollen shut, and he looked extremely sticky.

"Stupid poncey Fyarl demons," the vampire grumbled as he painfully slouched to the opposite corner of the room. "Use paralyzing mucus rather than put up a fight, lock me in my own trunk, and rob me blind. Oh, for pity's sake, they even took the fridge! Where the bloody hell am I supposed to keep my blood now!" he screamed at the vacant wall as he kicked it, chipping the stone.

"You got robbed! That's great! I mean, well, great's not the word to use, but that explains a lot and bleh you really, really, really need a shower," Al said as he looked at the decidedly unkempt Spike.

"I need a shower," Spike said as he thumped his head several times against the wall, "but I don't even have any sodding towels!"

"Geez, this gives new meaning to the term bad day. Wait, what am I doing here with the drippy vampire? Gushy, catch me up with Buffy!" Al ordered, and he immediately popped into being a good mile from the crypt.

Buffy was plodding along barefoot, not even noticing the cold January chill of the sidewalk under her feet. Her expression had gone completely blank. What little spirit had been left in her eyes seemed to have died completely.

"Uh oh. Blondie, it's not the end of the world. Your boyfriend, or whatever he is, isn't gone! He's just all covered in goo!" Al tried to persuade her, but it had no effect. She just walked right through him.

Al followed along in silence for a while, noting how much more slowly she moved now that the only thing she had to look forward to was slinging chopped meat onto a grill. He found he missed the motion sickness from her earlier gallop in comparison. Taking the most roundabout way possible, she eventually arrived at the Doublemeat Palace just before her 5:00 shift.

Mindlessly, she got behind the counter and began pressing the timing button and flipping patties, completely on autopilot. After a few minutes of total boredom, Al figured that nothing much was going to be happening for a while, so with one last concerned look, he rejoined Sam.

It didn't take Al long to fill in the good doctor on all of the details of the miscommunication between Spike and Buffy. By the time he was done, Sam's cute little tail was drooping.

"It's pretty obvious what the real problem is here," he said with a fluffy sigh. "I don't think the vampire just happened to bite her. I think she let it attack her."

"Yeah, I think you're right, Sammy," Al said. "She's so depressed. Something's got to snap her out of it."

"How am I supposed to snap anybody out of anything? I'm a stuffed pig!" Sam yelled in exasperation.

"Look, Sam," Al said as he sat down next to his now much smaller best friend. "Every time you've leaped into somebody, it's always been the right person for the job. If you wound up inside Mr. Gordo, there's got to be a good reason for it."

Sam nodded his head in agreement. "Okay, I see your point. I'm just completely out of ideas here. I've got nothing, zero, zip, nada," he said, punctuating each hopeless word with a wave of his hoofs.

"I think we're just going to have to wait and see," Al said, then glanced at the clock. In only twenty minutes, Buffy was going to lose her job.


	8. Chapter 8

Al popped into the decidedly filthy kitchen at the Doublemeat Palace just in time to hear the final words of Buffy's manager.

"You should obviously know better than this! Coming into work barefoot is against more regulations than I can name. The Board of Health would shut us down immediately if they ever saw this!" she yelled in a voice that Al thought was really far too publicly embarrassing for the poor girl.

"Geez, if you're gonna can her, can her in the back office, not in front of everybody! And it really doesn't look like you're all that concerned about cleanliness issues judging by the number of roaches back here that Ziggy's detecting."

"This is your last mistake, Betty. First you cause that ridiculous scene about the burgers being made of people, and then you violate the most basic dress code rule. That's it. You're fired. Clean out your locker and return that uniform, freshly washed, by tomorrow or else," she shouted as she stomped off.

"My name's Buffy," the girl mumbled to the empty air, "not that it really matters."

"Aw, kitten, sure it matters," Al said sympathetically as Buffy slowly walked out the back door and towards home.

"Sam!" Al called loudly as Ziggy brought him back to the Summers house. "Sam, she's on her way home. She got fired, and she doesn't even get to keep the dumb hat!"

"And she gets bitten at 7:00 on the front porch?" Sam asked as he climbed off the couch and started to shuffle towards the door.

"Yeah. Ziggy's tracking Buffy, and it looks like she'll get here in about fifteen minutes," Al said, following Sam to the front door.

"That gives us, what, five minutes or so until the vampire shows up," Sam said, looking at the clock. "Guess I'll just have to go out there and wait for her."

Al and Sam realized it at exactly the same time.

"Uh, Sammy?" Al asked as he stared at the locked door.

"We have a problem," Sam replied wearily. "Why do we always have a problem?"

"You can't reach it, and I'm useless. You're just gonna have to find another way," Al said, sticking his hand through the lock in vain.

"Back door?" Sam suggested, and Al ran to the kitchen.

"No luck!" he yelled back. "It's locked, too."

"Windows?" he asked almost hopelessly.

"No... no... no..." Al said as he hurriedly checked each one in turn. "Wait, I got an idea."

As Al's form levitated through the ceiling, Sam knew almost before the voice floated down the stairs what he would say.

"The only unlocked window in the whole house is up in Buffy's room!"

Of course Spike's little exit would be open. And all he had to do was, at just under one foot tall, climb an entire flight of stairs in less than fifteen minutes. He took one moment to size up the mountain in front of him, then with great determination, he put his hoofs on the first step and hoisted.

Soon, sweat was pouring down Sam's face, and the stairs didn't seem to be getting much shorter. Mr. Gordo's pudgy little body was definitely not made for mountain climbing. As the stuffed pig pulled himself up step after step, his snout and tail wrinkling in exertion, the minutes ticked away.

"You can do it," Al said encouragingly. "Come on, go faster! Buffy's counting on you."

"Shut up!" Sam finally hollered breathlessly. "Go... go see where she's at now!"

"Alright, alright, no need to get testy," Al replied indignantly as he disappeared.

As the pig continued his arduous trek at breakneck speed, if he'd had a neck, Al watched Buffy meandering slowly towards home, her eyes downcast.

"Right, you just take your sweet time there and let Sam get up the steps," Al said. "No need to rush."

Unknown to both of them, a third figure was following at a distance.

When Sam at last reached the top of the stairs after having fallen twice, he was terribly sore, but he scuttled bravely down the long hallway and, barely taking notice of his aching arms and legs, climbed the curtains and sat on the windowsill. With a mighty heave, the lower pane lifted, and the open night air blew in the room.

Peering carefully down, Sam saw that there was a section of roof that sloped outward for a bit, and then the front walk was directly below him. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the precipitous angle of the roofing and delicately made his way down to the gutter.

No sooner had he reached his destination than Al and Buffy came into view. Noting Buffy was looking nowhere but the ground, Sam flailed his front legs wildly, and Al caught sight of him at once. In a moment, the other man was standing beside him on the roof.

"Good job. There hasn't been any trouble yet," Al said as Sam watched Buffy come up the walk and take a seat on the front steps underneath him.

"Wait," the little pig said suddenly. "Who's that?"

"Who's who?" Al asked as he scanned the street.

There, about two houses down across the street, a bush was moving furtively. Sam stared as the bush proceeded to get up and move to the other side of the house's front door.

"Unless they have demonic shrubs here, I'm betting that's our vampire," Sam said as the bush made a break for it across a driveway and came to a standstill beside a mailbox.

"I'd say that's a good bet," Al said as he stared at the very weird sight of a bush crossing Revello Drive. "Who'd be moronic enough to try that stunt?"

The attacker, though, lost her element of surprise when she sneezed loudly, breaking through Buffy's silent depression.

"The hell?" Buffy said in disbelief.

"Stupid pollen!" came a peevish voice from the depths of the leaves as a figure stood up and threw the bush aside. "I hate stupid hay fever!"

"She's a vampire, right?" Al said to Sam. "She shouldn't even have to breathe! Oh, this girl's a peach... but, whoa, nice bazoombas."

In fact, the new blonde girl looked like she'd be prime Al dating material: curvy, pretty, and none too bright.

"I'm really not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Harmony," Buffy said, the small bit of humor that had crept into the corners of her mouth dying completely. "Just go somewhere else."

"Nu-uh. I'm not going anywhere," she said with a pout. "You stole my boyfriend!"

Buffy didn't reply. She just sighed.

"I am so going to kill you," Harmony threatened, pounding her fist into her hand. "Like, until you're dead and stuff!"

Buffy just sat there, too tired to even move and too drained to care.

"You know what," she said softly. "Just go ahead. Who'd care anyway? I can't raise Dawn right, my friends avoid me, I'm unemployed, my mom's dead, my dad's on permanent vacation, and everyone I care about abandons me. The thrill's gone out of life. There's nothing left that can surprise me anymore."

"Huh," Harmony said. "That's kind of sad and pathetic. But, okay, if you don't mind or anything!"

As Harmony's face vamped, something suddenly hit her on the head. Buffy's eyes goggled nearly out of their sockets while she beheld a most incredible sight.

There, swinging from Harmony's hair, was Mr. Gordo. As he performed a flawless back flip from the girl's head and landed on the lawn in a defensive crouch, the vampire's eyebrows went up in shock.

"You have a stuffed attack pig?" she said, stunned, as Dr. Sam Beckett proceeded to prove that size really didn't matter in the martial arts. What followed was truly an epic battle. As though in slow motion, the little pig executed a series of stunning kicks, though none of them reached higher than the girl's denim-clad kneecaps. Still, that was enough to get her good and angry.

"Ow!" she cried as she fell to the lawn. She grabbed the pig by his flailing hooves and proceeded to give him a good punch to the gut. Sam flew across the front yard from the forced of the blow, but ran back at her and landed a roundhouse kick to her shin. As his opponent stood there, hopping up and down, he took advantage of the situation and bit her ankle.

"I always knew you were a freak, Buffy, but this is so beyond too weird!" Harmony yelled as she lay on the ground, trying to pry the pig's felt mouth off her ankle. When she finally succeeded, she threw him to Buffy, who caught him automatically, her jaw still hanging open. "You know, I even thought about siring you since a vampire Slayer vampire could be like, a useful minion or whatever, but no way! I'm going back to L.A. where people are normal!"

With that, she stalked off in a huff across the front lawn, then stopped, turned around, and picked up her earlier camouflage.

"And I'm taking my bush with me!" she added as though this were the ultimate insult before disappearing back into the shadows.

Buffy, meanwhile, was staring at her piggy. She took one finger and poked his tummy experimentally. Sam resisted the urge to say anything. She sat him down on the porch and wiggled his legs in a pantomime of what she'd just witnessed. When Mr. Gordo did not turn into a pint-size Bruce Lee again, she shook her head as though to clear it.

"That's just... no, odd doesn't cover it," she said with a look of real surprise on her face.

"What's odd?" asked a voice that made her, Al, and, had anyone been watching, Sam, jump.

"Spike?" she asked in disbelief.

"Just saw my ex puffing down the street with an armload of foliage, blithering on about Mattel being the tool of the devil. What happened?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"I'm not really sure," she said truthfully. "But, I thought you left?"

Spike shook his head. "Didn't mean it, pet. Wish I could leave, sometimes, but I can't. You stopped by the crypt this afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

He pulled something out of his duster pocket. "Cinderella left her slipper behind. Only ruddy thing in the place, so it was pretty easy to notice. I was robbed."

"Oh," she said. "Well, that explains a lot."

She stared into the street in front of her, looking through the darkness with a strange sense of awareness.

"Come in, will you?" she said after a few minutes of silence.

"Ehm, Nibblet home?" he asked, a small bit of hope in his eyes.

"No, but she's going to be. This has gone on long enough. I'm calling a meeting," Buffy said as she tucked Mr. Gordo under her arm and headed for the phone.

Half an hour later, Xander, Willow, Tara, Dawn, Anya, Spike, and Buffy were gathered in the living room. Sam was sitting on the table while Al stood just outside the circle of do-gooders.

"Look, I had kind of an epiphany tonight," Buffy said.

"Really?" Tara asked. "About... what we talked about before?"

"That's part of it, but there's more," Buffy answered.

"Wait," Willow interuppted immediately. "You talked to Tara about a problem, but you didn't say anything to the rest of us?"

"What's up with that, Buff?" Xander said with a note of anger.

Buffy bit her lip, then began. "I lost my job tonight, and that's not the only thing that's going on. I've been having trouble for months now, and I've been keeping secrets, and I hate it, and it got to the point where tonight I realized I hated myself."

"Buffy..." Dawn said, her voice concerned.

"I know you all want everything to be okay again, but you know what? It's not, and you guys pretending that it is doesn't make it any better, so here's the deal. I'm leaving for a while. Giles mentioned once that there's a coven in England that specializes in helping people with supernatural powers get back on track when they go through something rough," she said, then took a deep breath. "And I need help."

"You're going alone?" Dawn asked in a small voice.

"No," Buffy said. "I'd like you to come with me. We don't need more time apart; that much I know."

Dawn smiled a little at that. "Okay."

"There's one more thing I want you to know," she said, swallowing hard. "Spike and I have been... um... seeing each other for the past couple months."

"What? Spike? What?" Xander said, rapidly swinging his head back and forth from Buffy, to the shell-shocked Spike, to Buffy again. "What the hell are you thinking? Have you totally lost your mind? How could you?"

"Oh, shut up, Xander," Anya said in annoyance. "Making her feel bad won't help."

Tara gave Buffy an encouraging smile. She knew how it felt to keep a relationship a secret because of being afraid what other people would think. She also knew how much courage it took to admit it, and she finally felt that things were going to be okay.

"Why?" Spike asked, unable to say anything else.

"I figure if you're good enough for me to... date... you should be good enough for me to admit to... dating... in front of my friends," she said quickly, blushing.

There was a flurry of discussion, some of it angry, some it relieved, but all of it finally honest as Al punched a couple keys on the comlink and grinned.

"Ziggy says Buffy's going to be fine. She does go to England, and they help her out a lot. She comes back to the States during the summer, re-enrolls back at University of Sunnydale, and gets a decent-paying job working as an aerobics instructor at the local gym," Al said with satisfaction.

"And then what?" Sam asked, not bothering to hide his voice in all the activity.

"Eh... huh. Well, Sunnydale gets swallowed by a giant sinkhole, but it looks like everybody makes it out okay, so that's pretty good," Al said with a raised eyebrow.

"And Spike and Buffy?" Sam pressed.

"Well, Sam, it's a little too early to say about them. After all, we're only a couple years from our own time here," Al replied. "But if I had to guess, I'd say those two kids are going to do fine."

As Xander grabbed Mr. Gordo and tossed him in the air in frustration, Dr. Beckett began to glow like the world's brightest Christmas tree as he leapt on to yet another mission. By the time the pig hit the ground, Sam had already found himself lying down on top of a soft, comfortable bed.

Looking down at his legs, he groaned. A dress. He was wearing a dress. He'd gotten stuck as a woman again.

"No, no, no, no, not the stupid nylons and the skirts and the make-up and the... geez, that's a tall ceiling," Sam said as he stared up at the extremely lofty ceiling above him.

"Uh, Sam," said Al's voice cautiously from somewhere above him. "You're not going to believe this, but..."

At that moment, Sam turned his head and screamed as he realized he was looking into the far-too-large face of a very pale woman with black hair and blue eyes.

"What are you doing in Miss Edith's dolly bed?" she cried in confusion. "You're not Miss Edith! And who is that man in the clothes that keep screaming, screaming, screaming in my head?" she added as she looked directly at Al.

Al and Sam stared at one another, and then in tandem they said the only words that could sum up the situation.

"Oh boy."


End file.
